


His Lady, Her Knight

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny! Sansa and her sworn shield!Sandor AU prompted by Acepalindrome on Tumblr. Sansa finds out about Sandor’s pyrophobia and goes around Winterfell blowing out every candle she can find. Sandor is so embarrassed about this big fuss she’s making and but tries to be patient and explain to her that candles are fine, he can deal with candles as long as the flame doesn’t touch him. But Sansa is just /so concerned/ and plus she likes feeling like she’s protecting Sandor from something scary because he protects her from the monsters under the bed all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acepalindrome](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Acepalindrome).



Sandor Clegane first arrived at Winterfell with King Robert when the royal caravan stopped to offer congratulations on the birth of Lord Eddard’s first daughter. Hoping to secure the newborn girl for his son, the king was determined to move quickly on his old friend, but it did not escape Sandor's notice that the queen was much less inclined to make the match.

During the visit, Sandor discovered Gregor in Sansa's rooms. Having killed her nursemaid, the sadistic knight ignored his brother's shouts and made an attempt on Sansa’s life, cruelly dangling the babe by the ankle as he made his way to the window of her nursery.

He  would have succeeded in throwing her to her death if not for Sandor, for there was not another man in Winterfell who would have stood a chance against Gregor in battle. In a brutal fight to the death, Sandor rescued Sansa from the Mountain’s grasp and then slayed his own brother, slitting his throat and throwing his body from the balcony.

After the fight, it was widely whispered that it was the queen who ordered Gregor to kill the baby in order to prevent the match. Despite Eddard’s demands, Robert never confirmed it. Instead, the king insisted he would handle it himself and readily gave Sandor into Lord Eddard’s service to make amends before hastily leaving the castle. It was in this way that Sandor found himself bound to Winterfell and appointed as Sansa’s sword shield. 

Watching over a little red haired girl was not the way the Lannister Hound pictured spending the rest of his life. He longed to spill blood, for the rush of battle. He wanted Dornish sour and whores who would ignore his scars for coin. When Robert gave him to Lord Eddard, he had been downright angry about the whole turn of events; eventually, though, the man resigned himself to the duty.

Lady Catelyn had insisted that if Sandor was to be her sworn shield that he must get used to handling his charge.  Oftentimes she would unceremoniously place Sansa in his arms at the most unexpected of moments. Not knowing what to do with a babe, Sandor would carefully hold the delicate creature in the crook of his elbow and whisper to her, willing the infant to learn not to fear him.

“I’ll keep you safe, my little bird," he would rasp close to her neck, "No one will hurt you again or I’ll kill them."

With her fiery red hair and creamy skin, Sandor could not help but think the tiny babe looked like a little snow robin nesting in his heavily muscled arms.  Wide eyed, Sansa would stare at him and grab for his nose in a most entertaining manner, babbling happily while nuzzling into him. Every time she smiled at him, the mite unknowingly strengthened Sandor's determination to protect her.

Though he knew Sansa would never even remember these occasions, Sandor recalled them every day, just as he did Gregor's attempt on her life. The memory of seeing the pretty little bird in the grasp of his monster brother haunted him still and Sandor soon could not bear to have her out of his sight.  Ever since that day, Sandor took no chances with his precious charge's safety, the man spending the majority of his waking hours by her side, watching over her and keeping her safe.

A terrible monster had begun plaguing her dreams. A sennight past, one of the men at arms, heedless of the gaping, wide eyed stares of Lord Eddard’s children, reported seeing exceptionally large greatbear tracks in the godswood. Since then, his little lady had been plagued by the same nightmare.Though Sandor knew the source of her terror, her screams nevertheless brought the Hound to his feet and sword in hand, in an instant.

Ned Stark posted him in the room next to hers the day he joined the household, yet still Sandor felt it too far away whenever he awakened to her frightened cries, for the sound brought back that horrible day with Gregor to the man. Even though logic told him it was most likely one of the child's nightmares, a singular fear, jagged and as cold as the frozen north, pierced Sandor’s heart as he ran toward Sansa’s rooms.

Her cries distressed the entire household nightly, and she was so upset that it was all Sandor could do to refrain from cutting the man’s tongue out. And for every night Sansa’s sleep was disturbed, Sandor beat the man to a bloody pulp in the training yard the following morning.

Without waiting, Sandor kicked in the door, sword drawn, glancing wildly about the room. The little bird was huddled among the furs, whimpering. "Lady Sansa!"

“Sanda!” Sansa cried out as her sobs wracked her tiny body, the girl desperately holding her arms out to him and breaking his heart in the process.

He had told her a thousand times if he told her once that his name was Sandor, a combination of  _sand_ and  _door_ but whenever Sansa was afraid, she would forget and return to the baby name she used for him.

“What is it, Lady Sansa?” Sandor glanced around the room once more and then made a show of aggressively looking under her bed and in every closet to ease her mind. “Was it that bloody bear again?”

Sniffling Sansa cried harder. “Yes, an awful big one, too. He was right here. Come hold me.”

“The bear was big, you say?” Sandor rasped low, all the while wishing that his voice was softer, that he was better at comforting her. Whistling softly, he then sat down on her bed and patted her legs. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s big and black with shaggy fur, and he has long teeth.” Sansa crawled out from the furs and curled into his lap, pressing her cheek to the burned side of his face as she snuggled against him. "Help me."

Snatching a fur throw from the bed, Sansa shushed her gently, gathered her close to his bare chest, warming her as he rocked her in his arms.

Her tiny frame shook uncontrollably, and the feel of Sansa’s violent trembling sent a fresh wave of fury through him; Sandor made a mental note to beat the buggering fool unconscious for scaring his little lady so.

“I’m not afraid of no buggering bear. If comes back to scare you, why, I’ll turn him into a rug for your floor.” Sandor gently settled her back and wiped her face with a handkerchief.

The maester and Lady Catelyn walked in just then, followed by the little bird's older brothers.

“My darling, did the bear come back in your dreams?” Her mother cuddled her in her arms, fussing over her in the comforting way women have with children.

Slowly Sandor rose and tried to make himself smaller, embarrassed that Lady Catelyn had caught him in a state of undress. Her brothers both gaped at him.

"No, Sanda, you must stay." Sansa's lip trembled as she spoke. "You keep me safe."

“I can bring her a glass of milk with just a half drop of sweetsleep, my lady." Maester Luwin offered softly after resting his hand on the girl's forehead.

Lady Catelyn glanced between Sansa and Sandor. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. Perhaps just a cup of warm milk with some chamomile leaves in it.”

"Yes, my lady; right away." Quietly the maester bowed took his leave.

“Lemoncake, did your sworn shield save you from the bear?” Lady Catelyn smiled at him as she spoke.

The question cut him, for Sandor would give anything to spare Sansa a moment’s suffering, and he was determined he would find a way to put an end to her nightmares.

Sniffling, Sansa nodded while her huge watery eyes remained fixed on him.

“Ser Sanda-I mean, Ser San-door, he came and kicked in the door and scared away the bear. Ser Sand-or, step forward, please." She commanded in her best imitation of her mother.

He did as she bid, and knelt before her while laying his sword in front of him.

“You are my knight, my protector from the scary bear,” Sansa whispered solemnly as she tied the pink ribbon from her hair around his massive bicep. “You will hold my hand everywhere I go.”

"As you wish, my lady," Sandor submitted to her attentions, all the while cursing himself inwardly. Her brothers snickered and then fled the room.

He would deal with those little shits later. Bloody hells, Sansa was the first female who ever wanted to touch him without coin, and Sandor was taken aback by her gesture. Her faith in him also touched a place long buried in his heart, one that wished he could be a true knight for her, if not for himself.

Undoubtedly he would get laughed at in the training yard for it, but Sandor could not deny her. If Sansa wanted to hold his hand, then by gods he would let her. He would do everything in his power to be the knight his little lady believed him.

Sandor bowed, fighting the smirk that threatened his face.

Lady Catelyn tersely nodded at him and then gestured for Sandor to take his leave.

As he closed the door, Sandor overheard Lady Catelyn reprimand her daughter. “You mustn’t call him “ser” Sansa, for Clegane is not a knight. He has taken no vows.”

“I don’t care, he keeps me safe.” Sansa cried anew. “He’s  _my_  knight. _Mine_.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Sansa was as good as her word. To the great amusement of the men at arms, the tike insisted that Sandor hold her hand everywhere she went in the castle. The soldier's snickering didn’t last long, however, for Clegane noted which men laughed as they passed, and then the following day Sandor swore he would  beat them bloody in the training yard, along with the man who scared Sansa for good measure.

Her faith in him both annoyed and yet somehow pleased Sandor, for Sansa was the first person in his miserable life to look past his scars and stare him straight in the face and smile. She was also the first one to put absolute trust in his ability to protect her. And even though he did not believe in buggering true knights, Sandor was determined he would be one for Sansa, that he would somehow earn the trust his six year old charge so easily placed in him. 

A few nights after Sansa’s nightmare, Sandor was making the evening rounds through the family rooms when he came to a corner. He thought he heard the click of the little bird’s door, and so Sandor turned around just as Jory Cassel, holding a torch, turned to meet him,  startling him in the process.

“Bloody fuck!” Sandor snarled loudly, scaring the man into dropping the torch to the floor.

Hastily Jory beat out the flames while Sandor hid his face away from them.

“Forgive me, Hound, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Jory offered while watching him. “Scared of fire? Makes sense.”

“Bugger that. Bugger you. You ever do such again, I’ll slit your throat.” Sandor snarled.

Carefully Jory then relit the torch, never taking his eyes off of the man as he did so.

At the same moment, the familiar glint of Sansa’s wild red curls peeking out from around the corner caught both of the men’s attention.

Straightening her back, Sansa walked toward them and in her best Lady Catelyn voice, the small girl demanded: “Ser Jory, what have you done to my knight?”

Suppressing a smile, Jory bowed to her. “My lady, it was a misunderstanding. We met at the corner of the hall and my torch caught him off guard.”

“Your fire scared him,” she stared levelly at him. “You can see he was burned once.” Sansa pointed up to Sandor’s face. “You should not have held it so close to his face. You must be careful with my dear friend.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jory bowed.

“And I command you to put out that torch at once.” Sansa insisted, her lower lip angrily pouting as she spoke.

“But the night is dark, not a star in the-“

“Am I not  _your_  lady?” She raised her chin. “Are you not  _sworn_ to House Stark?”

“Yes, my lady.” Jory took the knee.

“Then do as I bid.” Sansa firmly commanded. “Put out that torch and never scare Ser Sandor again or I will see my father punishes you. You may go.”

“Beg your pardons, my lady.” Jory bowed again. Sandor noticed he was fighting hard not to laugh as he turned to walk away.

Dumbstruck, Sandor gaped at her. “What are you doing out of your rooms at this time of night, girl?”  She shivered and so Sandor knelt, took off his cloak and wrapped her up in it. “Did the bear come back?”

Sansa shook her head. “I wanted a glass of water and I heard you cry out and I came to help, just as you come when I do the same.” She took his hand in hers and cradled it against her cheek. “I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you again.”

Hearing his own words repeated back to him in her baby voice nearly unmanned Sandor. Struggling to contain his emotions, Sandor swallowed hard as he puzzled over how to handle her little outburst.

“I know you will, little bird.” Sandor pulled his cloak closer to her. The fierce determination in Sansa’s deep blue gaze seared through him, choking his words. “I know you’ll keep me safe. You’re the wolf and I’m the Hound, right?”

Sansa nodded. “And we look out for one another.”

“That’s right, we do.” Sandor stood up and offered her his hand. “But it’s my duty to watch after you and your duty to learn to be a lady. Let’s get you back to your rooms before your mother finds you up and out of bed so late.”

“Yes, San-dor,” she toddled alongside him. Normally waiting for her to catch up to his stride annoyed Sandor, but not tonight. “She’ll scold me if she sees me up.”

“She’ll scold me too.” Sandor muttered under his breath. When he opened the door to her rooms, Sandor unsheathed his sword and looked about the room. “No bears here, my lady. Now you get in that bed.”

Quickly Sansa ran over to the lantern by her bed and blew out the candle. “There now. Isn’t that better?”

Exasperated, Sandor sighed. “I don’t fear candles, lass. I just don’t like fire near my face.”

“Yes, San-dor,” she snuggled under the furs obediently. “Good night.”

“Good night, little bird.” Sandor shook his head and then hurriedly made his way to the wine skins, where he stayed for the next three nights.

* * *

 No matter how much he drank and fought, the man was unable to bear the idea that his little charge, who was almost the same age as he was when Gregor burned him, meant to protect  _him,_ _the Hound,_  from fire, of all things.

The men of Winterfell all teased him relentlessly about his drunken behavior as well as for going around holding Sansa’s little hand - until Sandor either drank them under the table or beat them into unconsciousness.

Four days later Sandor found himself sitting in Lord Eddard’s solar trying not to vomit as Sansa’s father demanded to know why his little girl ordered Jory to put out the torches every night.

“My lord, four nights past Lady Sansa woke up in the night and she saw me jump back from Jory’s torch when the man surprised me at a corner. The mite grew quite fierce with him over it and now she’s taken it upon herself to protect me from fire.”

Fretfully Sandor rubbed his pounding head. If he wasn’t so wine sick he would have laughed outright at the absurdity of it all.

“I see.” Lord Eddard studied him carefully. “Well, she’s taken it upon herself to blow out every candle in the castle, too, and as of this morning she has commanded the stewards to extinguish every brazier, every fireplace and every torch in Winterfell that comes into her sight. As much as I’d like to indulge her, I don’t need to tell you that even with heated walls, it is far too cold in this castle to do such.”

“I beg pardons, my lord,” Sandor sighed, bowing his head. “I thought I set her right on the matter the other night. Apparently I didn’t get through to the lass. I’ll see to her at once.”

“You know why she’s doing this, don’t you, Clegane?”

Ned watched as Sandor struggled to speak.

“Aye, my lord, she said it was to protect me."

“Don’t you understand, Clegane?” Ned shook his head. “If she can protect  _you_ , the fierce Hound-you, the man who protects her from the greatbear that haunts her dreams-then Sansa feels she doesn’t need to be afraid of the greatbear anymore.”

Gods but his head hurt, as did his chest at hearing Eddard's words. “Have you found the beast?” Sandor muttered, trying to change the subject.

Lord Eddard shook his head. “It’s a very dangerous task. I asked for volunteers but so far no one will go. I even offered Sansa’s hand as reward for it.”

Sandor chose to ignore the last part of Eddard’s remark. “My lord, since I am her sworn shield, it is my duty to get rid of the beast that frightens her so. Allow me a fortnight to hunt down the creature and I will present her with its pelt,” he offered, the man unable to check the words coming from his mouth. “Then my lady needn’t fear greatbears or candles or braziers. She can go back to being a carefree little lass.”

Lord Eddard’s face broke into an uncharacteristic smile. “I’ll let you handle this situation, Clegane, in your own way. Go then, get the animal and bring the pelt to Sansa. I expect there to be an end to it once and for all once you return.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sandor bowed low.

“And Clegane, I mean to keep my word to you. If you succeed in bringing Sansa the pelt of the greatbear, then I will give you her hand after her sixteenth nameday. What say you?”

“As it pleases you, my lord.” Sandor bowed once more and then exited the solar, the man barely making it into the hallway before the contents of his stomach unexpectedly took leave of him.

Staggering to his room, Sandor had just made it inside before the thought of marrying the little bird brought matters to the fore once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor knew he could not have heard Lord Eddard correctly. He was so winesick he must have misunderstood. Would Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell,  _truly_  give his eldest daughter to a man of such low rank just for killing an animal? No, that was unthinkable; beyond belief, even.

There must be some other reason Lord Eddard was so willing to dispose of Sansa. He was nowhere near good enough for her, Sandor knew, and after much deliberation, he concluded that the man was merely motivating his men by offering a worthy reward for facing such a fearsome animal for his daughter's comfort.

After Sandor cleaned up and cleared his head, he made his way to the maester’s quarters where Sansa was having her lessons.

“San-dor!” She bounced excitedly from her seat and offered Sandor a piece of her lemoncake, the sight of her bright hair and blue eyes in the light of day sending a fresh wave of dread to his stomach.

“A  _lady_  does not run, Sansa, and especially not toward her  _sworn shield_  unless she is being attacked. Do I make myself clear?” Septa Mordane icily hissed into Sansa’s ear. “And what is more, a noble lady does not feed her  _dog_  at her table. "

“Yes, septa, but San-dor is not a dog, and I’ll not have him called such,” Sansa’s lower lip quivered as she spoke.

Her emotional state did not escape Sandor’s notice; after what Lord Eddard promised, he longed to slit the old windbag’s throat on the spot for her impudence.

“He is my friend and my knight. You should curtsey to him, I think.”

Her words brought a sweet ache to his hardened heart. “I’ve come for my lady,” Sandor spat out through gritted teeth before Sansa and her septa could go any further. “At her lord father’s bidding.”

“Oh, good!” Sansa eagerly took him by the hand while offering him another piece of her lemoncake right in front of her septa.

Clearly, the child already had forgotten what her septa just said or didn’t care to obey her, much to Sandor’s delight. He knelt down and carefully ate it from her fingers, his actions sending the girl into peals of laughter.

“Bring the last lemoncake with you, my lady.” Sandor gestured her back toward the table.

After Sansa was out of earshot, Sandor leaned in close to Septa Mordane’s ear and snarled: “I seen you in your cups at the tourney, old woman. Don’t get high and mighty with me in front of the girl again or I’ll cut out your throat, understand?”

Nervously the woman nodded. Sandor sneered at her one last time before leading Sansa out into the hallway.

“Where are we going?” Sansa took his hand.

“Your father’s solar. We needs talk.”

“Oh, that makes me happy, Sandor.” Sansa beamed at him so brightly it made Sandor’s chest hurt. “I like talking to you.”

She was smiling at him so sweetly that Sandor could not resist returning her expression then, and it occurred to the man that the only genuine smiles he offered were to her alone.

“You didn’t say my name in two syllables, lass.”

Shyly Sansa looked down at her last lemoncake, which was now disintegrating in her hands.

“Mother said I should not say your name as two words. I’m a lady.”

“Aye, you are, and you say it however you like.” Sandor growled more harshly than he intended. "Tell her I said so."

Sansa nodded, holding out her hands. "Yes, Sandor."

Sighing, he knelt down and began wiping her frosting covered fingers and palms with his handkerchief.

"You made a right mess of yourself, lass. What I wanted to say to you is this: I want you to leave on the braziers and candles and fireplaces, understand? I’m not scared of fire with you around so you need not trouble yourself.”

Confused, Sansa stared at him wide eyed but nevertheless nodded like the obedient child she was.

Sandor held her chin. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Sansa whispered solemnly.

Clenching his jaw, Sandor drew a deep breath. “I’ll be leaving soon. Might be tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” Sansa knitted her brows worriedly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take care of some business,” he sniffed gruffly. “I needs you to be brave while I’m gone. If all goes well, I’ll have a surprise for you when I return.”

Frowning, Sansa mulled over it for a while and then grudgingly agreed. “Alright, I’ll let you go. But not  _too_  long, and  _only_  because there might be a surprise for me when you return.”

“Aye, might be, but only if you don’t go ordering people around, understand?”

Sansa pouted as he spoke, but when he touched his finger to her chin, she slowly agreed.

“Yes, Sandor, I promise to be good.”

“Good, little bird; I knew you would.” Sandor raised his brow at her and then offered her his hand.

* * *

The Greatjon came from the Last Hearth and taught Sandor how to set a deadfall for such a large beast. After he mastered the skill, Sandor set out at once with a hunting party to take down the greatbear.

After a fortnight, he finally trapped the animal. To his astonishment, the greatbear  was just as Sansa imagined him to be, with black and shaggy fur, long, fearsome fangs and claws; indeed the animal seemed made from the stuff of nightmares.

All of the men marveled at the creature’s size, which measured well over three meters tall and estimated to weigh one hundred forty stone. Many suggested he give up Sansa’s hand and keep the pelt for himself.  

A bear pelt could hardly be considered equal to the little bird's hand in marriage, in Sandor's view, and he could hardly contain his fury at the idiocy of the men around him.

Undeterred, Sandor assured them that he would give it to Sansa. He proceeded to skin the massive creature on the spot and then gave the trophies to the men and the meat to the small folk. Then he sent several messengers back to Winterfell to announce his success.

After rinsing the blood from the pelt in an icy pool and allowing it to dry thoroughly for many days, Sandor returned to the castle to present it to Sansa.

Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn met Sandor in the courtyard when he returned. Sansa was not afraid of the pelt as Sandor feared she would be, and he watched in amazement as the girl rubbed her cheek against it as lovingly as she would a stuffed toy.

True to his word, Lord Eddard then gave Sansa’s hand to Sandor, officially betrothing him to his beloved daughter, after which he offered them a small keep in the far north. Sandor feared she would cry at the news, but Sansa delightedly clapped her hands and hummed happily as she took his hand in hers.

"Now I am yours." She bounced on her feet. "Just as you are mine."

It was clear to Sandor that her mother was considerably less pleased, though he had no fucks to give about her. He would try to be a good husband to her and no one could protect her the way he would. 

From then on, she was not troubled by dreams of the bear. No longer did she plague the staff about the candles and braziers. And House Stark resumed sleeping through the night undisturbed.

Despite his new position as her betrothed, Sandor continued in his duties as her sworn shield.

As Sansa grew into a young woman, Sandor feared she would no longer look at him with the unconditional love she had for him when she was little, that she one day would beg her father to give her to some pretty little lord and free her from her scarred dog.

To his great surprise, that day never came; if anything, it seemed to Sandor that Sansa’s feelings only grew deeper for him as she grew into womanhood. 

From the day of their betrothal, Sandor minded his drinking and quit his sporting altogether and thus carefully guarded Sansa’s honor as he did her person.

In truth, the Hound moniker grew to suit him well, for he guarded her jealously, fiercely, never allowing another near her.  Any man he deemed overly familiar would be run off with a ferocity that soon became legendary throughout the entirety of the north.

Though he had never imagined having a family of his own, Sandor grew to desire her, to long for her with a desperate passion he had never before known. She was good and kind and loving to all. She was beautiful inside and out; she was the pride of Winterfell. And she belonged to him.  

Carefully Sandor held his feelings in check, and although Sansa was very affectionate with him, the man never allowed himself to treat as his own and thus guarded her maidenhood as well as her honor.

As the little bird neared her sixteenth nameday, however, Sandor found that he could no longer deny that he desperately yearned to take her for his wife. She had grown into an exceptionally beautiful woman; so beautiful, in fact, that just the sight of her often took his breath away.

Truth be told, it wasn't merely Sansa’s strikingly beautiful face and body that Sandor longed to possess.  He wanted  _all_  of her: the way she sang so sweetly to him, her kind hearted disposition, her gentleness and tender kisses, her laughter, her beautiful smiles and the feel of her soft hand in his own all drove him to distraction.  

And she constantly touched him, squeezing his arm as they walked side by side, brushing the hair from his eyes, or kissing his hands. More than once he had to abruptly rush to his rooms for relief. For her part, Sansa did not always understand Sandor’s reticent behavior but like the true lady she was, she obliged him.

It was she who initiated their first kiss, and never before had Sandor experienced something as sweet and pure as her lips pressed against his own.

Afterward she held his face in her hands and said: "I have loved you all my life. The gods brought us together, I just know it."

Sandor wept at her declaration, for he felt the same though he could not put it in words.

She seemed to enjoy kissing him as much as he liked kissing her, and soon enough it was clear they both longed for more. It was then that Sandor knew it was time to wed her before he did something stupid.  

Three moons after her sixteenth nameday celebration, Sandor and Sansa were joined in marriage before the Heart tree, followed by a lavish celebration in the Great Hall.

As Sandor refused to allow a bedding, at the height of the reverie, the couple discreetly retired to their new rooms far away from the rest of the family.

Though they were both nervous and awkward and a bit shy, Sandor gently made love to Sansa all through the night, the man eagerly, passionately demonstrating his adoration for her without words. Sansa sang an entirely new kind of song for him, one that only Sandor would hear for the rest of their days.

The future saw many changes for Sandor and Sansa, but in the north, the former sworn shield and his lady lived lives rich in love, peacefully and happily spending their days together as husband and wife along with their children while the rest of Westeros languished in the game of thrones.


End file.
